


Slow and Steady

by mitochondriencocktail



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, Introspection, M/M, but somehow no literal cumming..... HM (yet?), timeline type stuff idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondriencocktail/pseuds/mitochondriencocktail
Summary: Richard isn't gay. Definitely not gay. He thinks. Until he might be, but he doesn't have time for that type of thing. He has an app to develop.





	Slow and Steady

**Author's Note:**

> lol hi

It’s sophomore year of college at Stanford and Richard’s thinking about dropping; just cutting ties and making a run for it because he doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need to be here. The classes bother him, the college community facade of school spirit grates on his nerves. He has maybe one friend here— if that— and, well, Richard just hates it. 

But he sticks around,  _ just until the end of the semester _ , he tells himself. He’s sipping on a beer on some guy’s porch and there’s a party inside and Richard’s talking to— his name’s Eric, and he’s the only interesting thing at this party. 

He’s at least a seven. Not that… not that Richard abides by such superficial and arbitrary numbering systems, but Eric’s undeniably a good looking guy in a non-classical sense. He’s slim, dark hair. There’s the slightest lilt to his Rs when he pronounces them, when he says Richard’s name. 

And Richard doesn’t know why he’s cataloguing these details, not when Eric’s explaining the future of grassland biodiversity and Richard’s suddenly just very intrigued by it. 

They’re sitting opposite one another, but both at the edge of their seats, knees almost touching, and Richard thinks about just leaning forward a bit more, knocking their knees together to see what’d happen. 

But he doesn’t. Because that’d be weird. And Richard’s— he’s overwhelmed by the desire to have Eric like him. To be interested in Richard and pinpoint the rays of his attention on him and solely him right now. _ He’s cool, _ Richard thinks. Cool people never talk to him. Not for any reasons other than to copy Comp Sci homework or bribe Richard to finish their projects.

“Hey— hey,” Richard cuts in, brimming with beer-sloppy confidence. “There’s two plants, right? And one’s hungry, no— wait,” Richard shakes his head. Clears his thoughts. “The first plant, he, uh, it. The plant asks the other plant, ‘Are you hungry?’ And the other plant, it— it goes, ‘I could go for a  _ light _ snack.’”

Eric throws his head back and laughs, and Richard beams with pride.

He never really sees Eric again, nothing more than a polite wave around campus, but Richard decides to stick it out at Stanford until the end of the semester. When he leaves, he finds himself thinking, distantly, of Eric. 

He hopes he’s doing well.

 

He’s working as a temp at some shitty tech startup because of course he is. Because of course Richard’s still free-wheeling it and barely scraping by with his rent at twenty-three. His parents had cut him off almost two years ago and— fine. It’s fine. He doesn’t want their money anyways. 

Not if they’re going to make their love conditional upon him attending Stanford.

He’s living off instant ramen and Pepsi and sleeping on a futon, and it feels like this should be some horribly cliched scene in a coming of age movie, but, no. It’s Richard’s life. His shitty dirt-hole life. But at least he has a job. Sort of. He thinks about quitting more often than not, but he— he needs the money.

And the people aren’t terrible company. Renee’s a sweet girl, smart, too. Rachel and Desiree have been kind enough to invite Richard out on more than one occasion with some other friends of theirs. And then there’s Daniel.

There’s something about Daniel that reminds Richard of Eric which is ridiculous because they’re nothing alike. Or, well, from what Richard remembers of Eric, at least. Daniel is “from New York, but not the city,” which means he spent his summers fishing and swimming in creeks and doing crazy shit like climbing mountains. 

He’s lean, but muscled, perpetually warmed by the sun and a little shaggy. There’s a healthy glow about him that should make Richard cringe with pallid self-consciousness, but it— it never hits him. 

Daniel’s just always so  _ nice _ to Richard. Funny. Carefree with his touches of congratulation or greeting; a hand on his shoulder, a fistbump over lunch. Sometimes even a side hug that catches Richard off guard, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. 

Daniel smells like kale smoothies.

 

“I think Daniel likes you. Why don’t you go home with him?” Rachel says over the din of the bar, her arm around Desiree.  _ El Cuando _ is smoky and dense with people tonight, just like every other night Richard’s dared to come out here with them. 

It’s not Richard’s first choice of place, but he likes the company. The security he feels wedged between the booth and good people who— they acknowledge him. Sometimes he thinks they even like him.

Richard spits his drink out, dribbling it all over the front of his shirt. “Sorry— whoa, what?” He laughs nervously. “I’m not— I’m not— I’m not…” the words catch and repeat over themselves until he finally runs out of steam, not entirely sure what he’s supposed to be saying.

Desiree looks strangely at him. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“You two are always flirting in the office,” Rachel adds.

“ _ Flirting? _ ” Richard asks, his voice pitching embarrassingly high. “Why the fuck would I flirt with Daniel? I’m not fucking gay,” he finally says; strained, clenching his beer bottle a little too tight until his hand starts to hurt, and the early sirens of panic start up in his head. “I’m—” He’s shaking his head back and forth. 

Daniel slides back into the booth with another drink for Richard. “Thought I’d top you off, man.”

“No topping needed here,” Richard stumbles out. 

The table goes uncomfortably silent. Daniel’s giving him a confused look.

“You know what? I should— I should go,” Richard says. “I have a lot of, uh,” he points over his shoulder, “A lot to do. For tomorrow.” He pointedly ignores the mood of the table, of these people he’s dared to call friends, and throws down a twenty he can’t actually afford to spare. “Keep the change.”

Richard stops in a 7/11 and buys a package of cheap powdered doughnuts, scans the magazines with half of one in his mouth. His eyes slide over the glossy images of chiseled men in well-fitted tuxes and he feels sick to his stomach. He crams another doughnut in his mouth. 

He’s not gay.

 

The next day, he announces his resignation, and piles his meager cubicle belongings into a single box. Daniel doesn’t say bye to him on his way out. _ It’s fine,  _ Richard tells himself.

He thinks about it the entire taxi ride back to his shithole apartment where he eats lukewarm instant ramen and watches YouTube videos on his laptop. 

 

It’s not that Richard has anything against gay people— really, no, he doesn’t. He’s fine around them. Knows they’re just people too. Nobody in his life had ever shown any real prejudice towards them. 

Even his parents with their laundry list of shortcomings as human beings never really had any harsh opinions on the matter. So it’s kind of— it’s confusing to Richard when he does let himself entertain the thought; usually after too many drinks or a hushed foray into some porn that doesn’t involve comically large breasts and, well. Pussy. Porn that doesn’t involve pussy in any way, shape, or form.

_ Why would it be such a bad thing, _ he thinks, hands folded on his chest at 2AM. He’s staring at the stick-on glowing stars stuck onto his ceiling. Sometimes, when he’s really tired, he can even convince himself that it’s fine if he is. 

But come morning, he erases any traces of such thoughts, and scrapes through his day.

He’s not gay.

 

He’s twenty-four and he’s living with a bunch of other dudes now in something called an incubator. Bighead’s here now, too, which was how Richard found himself here in the first place and it’s kind of nice having a familiar face around. A callback to his Tulsa roots, which is something he never thought he’d have any semblance of pride for. 

But there’s Dinesh Chugtai, Bertram Gilfoyle, and Aaron Maguire and they’re all fine. Nice enough. Richard and Aaron don’t— they don’t really talk that much. The conversations between them are always a little awkward, a touch stilted. And that bothers Richard because he sort of likes Aaron for some reason.

He’s a weird guy— everybody in this fucking place is, and maybe that’s why it feels more like home to Richard than any place in the last decade of his life— and Aaron eats a lot of yogurt. He’s around Richard’s height with dark eyes and really stupid looking pink streaks in his hair. Richard should hate them, but he doesn’t.

Whenever they cross paths in the kitchen in the weird hours of the night, Richard tries to strike up a conversation, and it sort of works. Aaron doesn’t ignore him by any stretch of the imagination, and he politely offers his own attempts at conversation to Richard while standing by the kitchen sink and eating yogurt at 4:24AM. 

But he can tell they both leave the situation a little— off. Weird feeling. Richard wants Aaron to like him, he just doesn’t fucking know why. It’s suffocating him.

He won’t admit it, but when Aaron leaves, Richard’s kind of relieved. He doesn’t look up from his computer for more than just a glance as Aaron walks out the front door for the last time, suitcase in hand. 

“Thank god we’re finally rid of you two eye-fucking,” Dinesh says from behind his monitor.

Richard jolts upright. “Eye-fucking? There was no…” he shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “There was no eye-fucking. What’re you talking about?”

Dinesh raises a single brow, and Gilfoyle turns his chair to face Richard, expression unreadable.

“Nothing, never mind,” Dinesh says. “I was just joking.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Richard stares at him, eyes wide. Dinesh breaks first and turns back towards his screen. “You’re just joking,” Richard repeats.

“Just joking,” Dinesh confirms.

 

Richard tries thinking the words to himself one day. He’s alone in the house, everybody having fucked off to god knows where, and Richard is laying on the couch with his laptop on his stomach, headphones blasting music.

_ Maybe I’m gay, _ he thinks.  _ Maybe I’m twenty-six years old and I’m just really gay, _ he tacks on after a moment of contemplation, letting the words seep into his brain. They feel weird, but not wholly off base. It’s sort of unsettling. But also kind of nice. Like he can stop lugging around this revelation like some kind of sack of gay potatoes hefted over his shoulders.

His second thought is, _ I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time to develop an app and be gay, _ so he shelves the thought and forgets about it entirely.

 

A deep, bone-rattling groan births itself in Richard’s chest and he does everything he can to keep it swallowed down clean. Untouched. But this man— Jared, he said his name was— oh, he’s got… His eyes are really nice, and he’s being very nice to Richard, and his voice has a nice sound to it. Soft, but not transparent. There’s weight there to it, meaning and earnestness.

“Oh,” Richard mutters under his breath, “Oh no.”

They shake hands in Hooli and Richard hopes this is the first and last time they’re in the same room because Jared is— what Richard’s feeling is a compounded summation of every single maybe-sort-of-crush he’s had on a guy, and magnified to a couple hundred decibels. 

He does not need this right now.

 

Jared’s very nice to Richard already, which is enough to catch Richard’s attention, but there’s also something magnetic about him. A determined pull in his direction through his quiet, quirky actions.

 

“Yeah, well, maybe I just want to kiss you,” Richard says cooly, scoffing, standing up straighter with his arms crossed like it’s some kind of challenge of verisimilitude. 

“Are you- Richard, are you trying to make a joke?”

“No.” It’s a monumental effort to meet Jared’s eyes, but he wants him to know he’s serious. He’s— Richard’s put thought into this. Intentionally. Unintentionally. Eye contact is just really fucking difficult for him though. “Maybe I even…” he straightens up. “Maybe I even _ love _ you. Ever think about that,  _ huh? _ And… and maybe, I’ve always sort of known I was gay, but I just didn’t want to think about it. But you can’t apparently live your life like that or else— it just makes you want to explode, you know? Which is just… that’s fucking dumb.” A nervous laugh. “God, life would be so much easier if you could just fucking ignore the things you wanted to ignore, but… I… guess. You just can’t. And,” a shrug, “you shouldn’t. So that’s why I’m…” he trails off, gesticulates wildly with his hands, throws whatever he’s trying to say at Jared and hopes he’ll just get it like he always does.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Jared asks, his hand cupping Richard’s face. 

Richard opts for a vigorous nod because he knows if he tries to speak right now, nothing good will come of it, and suddenly they’re both leaning in, hesitant. Tilting their heads to get the angle right and there it is— Richard’s kissing Jared and Jared’s kissing Richard. His fingers fist themselves into the soft fleece of Jared’s vest.

It’s just a warm press of the lips at first, and then Jared starts moving; soft, steady, easing Richard into it like pulling off the dew-soft petals of a flower and exposing it. Quiet wet noises flitter their way to Richard’s ears and it’s not— nothing lewd. Nothing crass. Jared inexplicably tastes like summer blueberries and it’s just this single thing and he— Richard eats up every kiss.

  
  
  



End file.
